


Everyone Needs a Babushka

by WordsCharacterPlot



Series: Patchwork Family [3]
Category: Marvel, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Avengers Family, BAMF Natasha Romanov, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, F/M, Kid Fic, Pre-Avengers (2012), Protective Clint Barton, Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-26
Updated: 2019-12-26
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:09:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21973312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WordsCharacterPlot/pseuds/WordsCharacterPlot
Summary: Natasha needed another safe house for her family. Why not the one with the neighbors willing to adopt her and her children?
Relationships: Clint Barton & Natasha Romanov, Clint Barton/Laura Barton
Series: Patchwork Family [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1394446
Comments: 5
Kudos: 34





	Everyone Needs a Babushka

The Winter Soldier was a constant argument between Natasha and Clint. Clint wanted more than empty words to assure him of his family’s safety. He claimed that she did not see clearly when it came to him, but Natasha refused to give information or assurances. He was dangerous, deadly so, but he was also the father of her children. He was the only bright spot in a lifetime of blood and darkness and pain. One day, Natasha hoped to offer him the same grace Clint had offered her.

It didn’t help when he shot at her, shot through her. Still, Natasha was alive, and that was enough assurance she needed that there was still some part of her Yasha in him. Enough for her to carry a shred of hope in the scars he left behind.

“Mama?” Natasha looked up from her report to her four year old son. He looked so much like his father, but his eyes shifted from blue to green, a perfect mix of both her and Yasha. Right now, those eyes held uncertainty and fear, something she resolved to fix immediately.

“What’s the matter, малыш?” She pushed away the computer and gave him her full attention. He shifted his weight, his gaze falling to the floor and his grip on his Captain America bear growing tighter.

“Is…” He paused, weighing his words, weighing the costs. Natasha wasn’t sure what caused the fear in her son. He was quieter from his sister, serious, brooding. While Anya exuded life and abundance, James embodied still moments in winter. Suddenly he raised his chin, finding courage, “Is papa a bad guy?”

“What makes you think that? Did someone say something?” She did her best to keep her rage out of her voice, focused on the scared child in front of her, running her hand through his curls.

“Uncle Clint…. He says he doesn’t want papa to come home. He says he should stay away.” His response was hushed, whispered, worried for the archer’s ears no doubt. Natasha was going to kill him.

Pulling her son close, she rubbed his back as he clung to her, “Papa is not a bad man, but he has done things that weren’t always good. He loves you so very much though and will come home as soon as he can.”

Unshed tears forced their way out onto her shirt and James sniffed, “Why does he do bad things?”

How to explain to a child the terrors of the world without destroying their innocence? Giving him a tight hug, she leaned back and wiped his cheeks, “You know how Anya sometimes gets you and Lila in trouble? She makes you do things that you don’t realize are bad until later? It’s something like that.”

“He has a brother that gets him in trouble?” he asked, eyes wide and clear from crying. In amusement, Natasha glanced at the bear in his arms, with its shiny shield and bright mask.

“He did, but right now it’s a little more serious than just a sibling. I can’t explain everything right now, but he is not a bad man, you understand?” He nodded dutifully, but she could still see the doubt and fear lingering. She was going to strangle Clint, “Good. Now, how does a trip to the city sound?”

That brought life back, a slow grin overtaking his body, “With ice cream?”

She winked at him, “Go get your sister and grab your bags. We’ll make a weekend out of it.”

He hurried out, calling out for Anya. They would be ready quickly. As part of her contingency plans, James and Anya had grab bags that they knew to get in emergencies or for fun weekends. Finishing the report, she sent a message with Coulson informing she would be taking off. They were between missions and she wasn’t really asking.

That done, she let the rage crawl over her skin, the image of her son in tears, and stood to find the Bartons. A squeal from the door; Anya had been told. Laura and Clint were in the living room, the archer standing as he made wild gestures to his story. He turned his grin to her but it quickly slid off his face in confusion.

“Nat, you okay?”

Her gaze slid from him as if he weren’t there and she gave a tight smile to Laura, “The twins and I are heading out. I’m not sure when we’ll be back.”

“Okay.” She studied her for a moment, eyes flicking to her husband, “I’m making pierogi for dinner.”

“We’ll be gone a few days at least.” 

Clint sputtered beside her but she continued to ignore him. This was their home, a place that was supposed to be safe for their children, and he violated that. Natasha would not do the same. She would let out her anger later when she had to go back to work.

Laura sighed, connecting the dots, “Who heard?”

The urge to lash out, to drop the man next to her on the floor and make him beg for mercy, rose for a moment before she wrestled it down again, “It doesn’t matter. I’ll message you later.”

“Let’s go let’s go let’s go!” Anya raced over to her, dragging her unicorn backpack. James walked a bit more sedately with a pouting Lila beside him.

“Wanna go!” The younger girl said. Seeing the beginning of a ‘no’ from Laura set her off screaming to her room.

“Clint, go calm her down.” He looked ready to refuse, unwilling to move, to let Natasha go. “Clint.”

With a huff, he followed after his daughter. Laura bent down, “Hugs! Be good for your mama and eat lots of sugar.”

Anya giggled and James nodded, grinning. She smiled at their joy, letting it ease back some of the anger, “Get in the car. I’m right behind you.”

“Nat, I-” 

She held up a hand to stop the apology or explanation. Clint had been harboring resentment against their father for some time now. Since her injury and his supposed rescue, it had grown to unhealthy levels. This was a step too far. Still, she knew Laura had been trying her best to curb his comments and she was not angry with her. “I need to not be here right now. We’ll be back, I promise.”

With a sigh, she nodded, “I understand. He was out of line and I’ll work on him until you can come back and beat him up.”

Natasha packed up her kids in the car and headed for New York City. While living on the outskirts provided protection and room for their unconventional family, she wanted to find a place in the city. Specifically, Brooklyn. Once Yasha did return, he deserved to go home. 

But she had resisted buying a place. It was too close to hoping that he would come home, that he would want to live with them. She was not deluded enough to believe it would be simple or easy. They had not spoken in so many years. He most likely didn’t even know about the twins or Sasha. Why would he? He had been reset and sent away before she knew she was pregnant the first time.

“It’s stinky. Why are we here?”

Broken out of her musings, Natasha smiled at her young daughter, “Because милая, this is near where your father grew up.”

James perked up at that, “Here?”

“Yes. And I thought we might find a place to live whenever he comes home, would you two like that?” She was giving them false hope. What if he never returned? No. He would return. And if he didn’t, then he was dead and they would find closure. In the meantime, she would allow them hope and childhood dreams. She would not take those away.

They were jittering with excitement and she ushered them inside the lobby of an apartment building, grateful for the modicum of security it offered. Her hair was tucked in her hat and make up to hide her features, but the city was too exposed. 

She approached the front desk, putting on a thick accent, inquiring about an apartment for sale. They were led to the fourth floor. The attendant did not linger as she opened the door and let them in. Natasha wrinkled her nose at the stale air and moldy walls. It would need a lot of work.

“We can’t stay here!” Anya proclaimed, looking at her mother in horror, “It’s horrible!”

“It’s dirty and broken, but that can be salvaged.” Natasha would not entertain the thought of that metaphor, but she also would instill a handiness and fixing nature in her children, “What do you think James?”

For a brief two seconds, panic overrode her. James was not on her other side. She had not even felt him move away. Had someone taken him? Before she could launch into protocol, his voice wafted from down the hall.

“I’m Jay. My sister and mama are gonna move here when my dad comes home.” He was grinning up at an older woman, holding a paper bag filled with groceries. Natasha swooped over, holding onto Anya’s hand.

The woman smiled at her, “Oh, you must be the mom to this perfect little gentleman. I’m Helen.”

“Nadia,” she said with a returned smile, “Did you need help?”

She managed to wrangle her keys into the lock, swing the door open, “Not anymore. Can you drag those to the kitchen for me, young man?”

To his credit, James remembered what his mother taught him and looked up at her for permission. She nodded. This was unlikely a threat to her family. James was just trying to help, not induce a heart attack or, more likely, a bloodbath. He waddled in with his package. Helen waved them in.

“Are you looking at the Harrison’s apartment? Quite a mess, isn’t it?” She shooed them into a cozy living space, lace and knit covering every space, a life told in pictures on the walls and shelves and tables. “It’s been empty for awhile, no one wants to spend the time and money, but the building has good bones, good history.”

Cookies and lemonade were passed out. James and Anya sat on the floor, staring at this older woman with fascination and wonder, hanging on her words. Natasha allowed herself to relax marginally, “My husband grew up here, we were hoping to perhaps to return to his roots.”

Sharp eyes, undimmed by age, roved over her face and nodded, “Well, that practically makes us family then. I can trace back my lineage in these walls, back when the apartments were less than accommodating. Where are you from dear?”

She listed a country, east European, small and insignificant, but Helen nodded anyway, “Old country, you have a way about you. You should meet Lidia, she’s from the old country too, holds herself like you do.”

That did not bring her comfort as Helen would anticipate, and as she rang for her neighbor, Natasha slipped her hand in her coat, a knife resting in her palm, the smile never leaving her face. She sat by her children, between them and the door.

But Lidia was as old as Helen and large glasses made her jeweled eyes bug out. A handwoven shawl hung about her shoulders and beads adorned her clothes. Flashes of memories dusted across the surface of her mind, of cinnamon and tobacco and rasping voices, long before the Red Room burned her mind.

Her hand released the knife and she stood to greet the woman, “Ma’am, I’m Nadia, this is James and Anya.”

That was all the acceptance her children needed. Their first names were only for friends, for trusted people, and never, ever in public. Lidia squinted at them, then nodded, “You shall call me babushka. Let me tell you some stories while Helen chatters with your mama.”

Given little choice in the matter, Natasha was ushered in the kitchen. She watched in amusement and gratitude. The last of the anger from Clint blew away and she leaned against the counter. “With the littles occupied, what can I tell you about the apartment? I must say, it’s been many a year since we had a young family join us.”

“Is it not safe?”

Helen poured strong coffee, “Not so much, just old, forgotten, away from the thrills of the city. Every now and then we get a Captain America tour, less so now.”

“A tour?” That would be less than ideal. She would not have her children hounded by press. Helen mistook her question for interest.

“Oh yes, Captain America grew up here. Well, back when this was little more than a hole in the wall apartment. I was too young to know him, but knew his family, extended family. Rebecca Barnes used to babysit me as a girl.” The name sent a jolt through her, but she covered it with a sip of the coffee, “The Barnes family lost two sons in the war, not many realize.”

Natasha stirred in sugar to her coffee, collecting her scraps of thoughts. She pulled the direction towards safer waters, “I wouldn’t like the publicity of tours. That doesn’t seem right for privacy.”

She nodded, “I’ve bullied George for years to kick them out, but all he cares about is the money they rake in. The interest has faded. Only shows up once a year or so. Fourth of July and the like, when people get all patriotic and whatnot. Will we get to meet this husband of yours?”

“He’s on tour,” she said, the lie falling easily from her lips. He was in military, the details were simply better left unsaid. Conversation drifted to veterans and crumbling of society and patriotism. She hummed and nodded and stirred her coffee. The hours waned and Natasha felt her shoulders relax.

“I think it’s time for you to go home. You’re much too little to be out in the city late.”

“Thank you so much for your afternoon,” she said, genuine in her comment. Helen patted her arm while Lidia nodded.

“You come back, regardless if you buy that apartment.” Lidia offered no room for argument.

“We will. I’m not sure when, but we will.” And they did. It would be a monthly outing. Laura knew better than to ask but James and Anya told stories of their new babushka, of the city, of ice cream and laughter. Natasha would buy the apartment and hunt down the tour and tear both apart.

This time, Lidia patted her arm, “Life should not be spent in regrets or anger.”

She didn’t ask how she knew; she just bundled her children up and went home. Darkness had settled as she bundled the children in bed. They protested going home, but the car ride has quieted them down to snores. 

Clint was on the range and swore loudly and colorfully when Natasha stepped in front of his bow. “You trying to kill yourself?”

She raised her chin, her gaze cool, “I’ve gone rogue, but you know me. You catch up with me guarding an enemy, in the way of a target. How do you eliminate the target without killing me?”

“What?”

“Answer it, Barton.”

He licked his lips, his fingers beating out a nervous staccato on his bow, as he worked out the problem, the angles, the scenario, “Best guess, you’re being coerced, maybe they have the kids. First plan, get them safe. Second plan, ricochet.”

“Too open, no other sight lines.” The lines of his face hardening. She pressed closer into his space, the arrow he had notched digging in her side, “You have no other choice. I’m too good. You have to shoot through me. Where’s the least damage?”

His eyes flicked to the still healing scar. No major organs punctured, but high loss of blood. A close call, but not deadly. Shoulder had been another option, but the way she was standing removed that choice from play. Through her leg would not be a fatal shot to the target. He frowned, “I can’t Tash. I can’t forgive him for hurting you. For leaving the kids.”

She lowered the bow to the table, her tone as gentle as she could make it, “I was stolen as a child Clint, ripped from my home and molded as I grew. The Winter Soldier? He had a past and a life and it was burned from him. Over and over and over. Until all that was left was a machine in his place. He didn’t leave them. He didn’t hurt me. He wasn’t given that choice.”

He took a deep breath and gave a curt nod, “I’ll try.”

She held out a case of beer, “If we’re going to discuss this, we’re going to need the crappy alcohol you claim to enjoy.”

He huffed a bitter laugh, opening a bottle and starting early, “Lay it on me, Tash.”


End file.
